


Without You Here

by magnamedius



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Mech Preg, Multi, Sexual Interfacing, Spark Bond, Spark Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnamedius/pseuds/magnamedius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ultra Magnus meets Wheeljack in a  nightclub.</p><p>There's an automatic pull the two have to one another, but when Wheeljack mysteriously leaves, Magnus is left disraught and ultimately yearning for more.</p><p>Trouble is brewing in the upper castes though, and Magnus doesn't have the time to mope. Sooner or later mechs can't trust one another and tension creates a scramble for power. Ultra Magnus, a young guard that shows promise, is tasked as a personal handler- to Wheeljack, a member of an upper caste science guild. </p><p>Now Ultra Magnus struggles to support Orion (while keeping an optic on his brother's questionable actions including a lowly Kaonian gladiator), his duties of the guard, and the frustration that is Wheeljack in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without You Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Transformers fanfic ever (so please be nice)! It's kind of all over the place, but I'm going to warn you, I tried. Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack will not get along like peas and carrots! They are my otp, but unfortunately, there is not many fanfics involving them.
> 
> This is slightly AU? I suppose that is the term, I'm going to just place this fic in the multiverse. The caste system is shit as usual. Ultra Magnus is young, Wheeljack hates his job, and Orion is pure-too pure for this world.

Perhaps a good question would be how he got there in the first place. Not how he liked his high grade.

“I am not sure it is appropriate that I stay here.” The large blue mech said, his servos clenched in thinly veiled nervousness. The nervousness was an effect of a cool mixture of apprehension and doubt that settled in his spark when he studied the mass of bots in front of him. He shook his helm a bit. “We have reports to file in the morning and the fact that they are not done poses quite the dark spot on my conscious.”

Orion Pax clapped him on the shoulder, optics bright in the darkened room. He was trying to be encouraging. Pit, he was encouraging. His bright blue optics and smooth faceplates were good at conveying honest emotions such as happiness, and dragging his brother out that lunar cycle put clear joy on his features. “Oh Magnus, those reports can wait and you know it. Everybody wanted to enjoy a night out and I really wanted you to come enjoy yourself too.”

Ultra Magnus glanced around. 

"I feel like I'm a little out of place," he raised his voice modulator slightly over the music in order to communicate with his brother. 

Orion bit his lip plate before giving the other a determined smile. "Go stand by the bar and just wait for someone to buy you a cube of high grade; and when they do, make small talk and then get another.”

Magnus cringed a bit at the suggestion.

A familiar red bot managed to push his way in between both of them before adding, “After you manage to throw that one back, you'll finally relax. Well, if you even understand the meaning of the word." There was a flash of his cheeky grin and then Hot Rod immediately abandoned the two of them to go dance in the middle of a bunch of frames that could hardly be distinguished from one another. Orion laughed slightly before nodding towards the bar, a promise to meet in a couple of kliks falling easily from his lips.

"I still have not the slightest clue what I am doing here," Ultra Magnus said to himself, as he stood on the outskirts of the dancing mob alone. His brother had shown up in the doorway to his office along with Hot Rod, not offering any information on where they were going or why. When they'd gotten to the frankly disreputable looking night club, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Arcee had melted out of the shadows and followed Orion inside

So, he didn't like to think he's following orders from the data clerk, but he did make his way to the bar, where it's relatively quieter. The deafening bass and not-quite-loud-enough lyrics aren’t right in his audio receptors and rupturing his systems anymore. It was a small victory, but still a victory. Magnus sighed. He could order himself a high grade while he waited for Orion to make another appearance. Although his wishful thinking wasn’t quite as encouraging to him that he wasn’t too uptight for a night out. 

Magnus drummed his digits on the surface of the counter, optics narrowed as he searched the bright fluorescent board for energon to his liking. It wouldn’t hurt him to at least try and enjoy the nightclub: even if that enjoyment was with himself. By his self. 

There was a movement out of the corner of his peripheral which caught the officer’s attention instantaneously. It was obvious to him now, the white paint of the mech, bright colors of the lights reflecting off of the smooth planes of the other’s plates without any distortion. The smooth advancement was odd compared to the erratic dancing on the floor though, and this alone peaked Magnus’ curiosity. He leaned back as he tried to study a bit closer, servos holding on to the edge of the counter to steady his large frame. There was almost a phantom pull to the other, an irritating itch that had Magnus’ servo kneading his palm into his chassis uncomfortably. His helm focused on the slow moving forwardness of the bot in the crowd. He couldn’t help but wonder of the other’s intent. He looked slightly predatory, like he was searching for something. 

He felt a tap on his shoulder strut and turned distractedly to Orion, who smiling knowingly; set his lips in a lively quirk. “See something you like?” he asked, bumping shoulders with Magnus as he leaned over the counter himself, optics flickering to the energon menu above the bar.

Ultra Magnus disregarded the comment and whipped his helm around to search for the alluring motion once more. A heavy vent escaped him when it became apparent that the bot was lost in the crowd of writhing bodies. Glancing back at Orion, Magnus squinted, processor left wondering why his sparkchamber felt so odd.

“No, I suppose not.”

Orion frowned a bit at that, ordering energon for the two of them without another glance at the menu. “You know, the police force has been busy.” There was a distinct pause. “I’m constantly pulling data for the guard and other officers on topics that in no way, shape, or form seem relatable to one another.” His lip plates twitched in an uncontrollable tick and the red and blue bot grumbled. “Even with all the craziness going on lately, I just wanted you to relax a bit. You’ve been so uptight lately; at this rate you’re going to work yourself into stasis lock.”

Magnus grabbed the offered cube before turning around and leaning backwards on the flat surface of the bar. 

I have to. He thought.

“Orion. Your concern is misplaced,” the officer firmly stated, following an attempt to soothe his brother’s worries with a flick of his servo. “Things have been…tough lately, yes, but definitely nothing to fuss about. I would rather you not bother yourself with the duties of the guard. You should focus on your studies instead. How are the Archives? ”

Orion was understudying in the Archives at the moment, but sooner or later he would find his permanent place among the other data clerks- or possibly in a higher ranking job of some sort. Magnus woke up every solar cycle and endured the other officers on the guard. He silently demanded their respect by excelling at his job and took every petty, fickle errand they could throw at him with nothing less of crisp professionalism. They tried to embarrass him. They adamantly tried when he first arrived.

Let it not be said Ultra Magnus lacked perseverance.

However, their family’s caste was high enough for him to struggle his way there with hard work and determination. That’s part of why Ultra Magnus was so inexorable in his work, he wasn’t there through familial privilege and caste obligation. He’s worked hard to get to where he was, and he didn’t think it hurt anyone that he found pride in that.

The smaller bot frowned again, already seeing how his older brother was slowly slipping into thought again. “We’re going to go dance.” He knocked back the rest of his cube before pulling Ultra Magnus out to the crowd of frames in the center of the room. Magnus barely had enough time to set his drink down before he was bumped into from all sides, booming bass resonating in parts of his frame he didn’t think possible. The interested looks from different sets of inebriated optics brought heat to his faceplates, but the officer paid them no mind as he was dragged by servo on to the floor.

“I love this song!” Orion smiled, stepping back and doing an awkward little jig associated with dancing. With Orion’s hips moving side to side and his arms making wide motions over his helm, Magnus tried to stifle a partial laugh and grimace at the horrendous motion. 

The older bot grabbed his brother’s servos before saying, “What truly scares me the most is that you were honestly trying.”

“Hey, you know what, shut up and dance.” Orion laughed, pulling his arms back and forth to get the other moving with him.

“A good friend loves at all times, but a brother is born out of the necessity of honesty.”

“Your honesty is noted but not appreciated.” The red and blue bot groaned, leaning back and bouncing with the music. “Also, please don’t philosophize with me on some crummy dance floor surrounded by drunken bots and horny frames.”

Magnus leaned side to side with the music, the high grade warming his systems enough to relax. Back in their habsuite, this particular song played through the walls of their familial unit, Orion busting the exact same moves in their living space. Magnus replayed that specific memory in his processor for a moment. The last of his wariness escaped him with a sigh behind his dentae. 

And so he moved smoothly with the music. His frame moved and dipped with the slower bass of the song, rather than the faster, upbeat tempo that Orion and the rest of the crowd seemed keen on chasing with their spastic movements. Letting go of his brother’s servos he dimmed his optics, relaxing into the instrumental and powerful sway of high grade in his frame. His silver legs reflected the colorful array of strobe lights igniting the entire club, and sometime between the next couple of songs his servos found his chassis. For a moment he was just another bot moved by the music. 

\-------------

Perhaps it is the contrast of deliberate movement, and the colorful hysteria that was the rest of the club that drew Magnus’ optics once again. Or maybe it was that insistent itch that had his helm snapping to attention.

His spark even fluttered for some reason. 

The white mech cleared the distance between them with purpose. Everyone dancing was slag faced drunk and yet here was a bot with clear optics and a wry grin that promised something Magnus thought look into later. He slowly stopped his dancing and the air seemed charged. The white bot maintained optic contact with Magnus before his grin widened, dentae surprisingly dazzling compared to his rugged nature. 

“Don’t stop on my account, you ain’t too bad at that.”

Magnus reset his modulator. “Do you refer to my dancing?”

The bot smirked, “Well, if that’s what you wanna call it”

Magnus’ optic ridges came down a bit, not quite sure if it was meant as an insult or not. But the easy going openness of the bot’s faceplates was enough to put the officer’s self-doubt at ease. He resumed his slow movement, the song transitioning smoothly to something with a heavier, lower thrum.

The white bot glanced around a bit before his blue optics slid back to Ultra Magnus, a glint of something indecipherable appearing in his gaze. “I’m Wheeljack.”

Magnus watched as Wheeljack swiveled his hips in an enticing way and his glossa ran quickly behind his bottom lip plate as he blurted, “My designation is Ultra Magnus.”

Wheeljack moved his lip plates, but with the loud music Magnus wasn’t quite able to make out the fleeting syllables. There were two of them, two unheard syllables, but he didn’t dare ask the bot to repeat himself, not when Wheeljack seemed content with just moving again, encouraging the officer to do the same.

Then they were dancing with each other. There was no touching, not in the literal sense at least, just licks of a confident field against Magnus’ own. It was a lot more reserved than what some of the other bots are attempting around them- well, compared to what Rod was doing. Magnus sputtered for a second before he snapped his attention back to the mech in front of him. Wheeljack was pretty; there was no doubt of that. The next move he made when he stepped closer took advantage of his entire lower frame and Magnus had to clench his jaw with a hard vent from the image it gives him.

The itch in his chassis was joined by a sort of magnetic pull that makes him want to touch the other. Magnus’s chest felt hot and when he looked down to the bot in front of him the feeling intensified. He forgot about the other officers, the heap of work that he would most likely find once he was seated at his desk in the next cycle, and the nasty remarks that circulated around the guard originating from a certain slag head by the name of Sentinel.

For a moment he stopped worrying.

Or maybe he just didn’t care. Not when Wheeljack fit just right underneath his slightly trembling servos and pressed against his frame with a firm insistence that made Magnus reel momentarily.

The junior officer pressed back, albeit apprehensively, and the white mech and gave a flashy grin in response. On a normal day perhaps Magnus wouldn’t have been as eager a participant to the grind of the other as he was then. The thought captured him for a moment, before he decided whatever 'Officer Ultra Magnus' would do in this situation was not the favorable path to take that night.

“Come back to now, Magnus.” Wheeljack basically purrs into his audial. “Whatever is botherin’ ya, let me help you forget.”

It’s ridiculous really, how quickly his cooling fans clicked on to compensate for the flush of heat throughout his systems. Magnus wasn’t exactly inexperienced, but he never had excessively leisurely time for simple pleasures such as this. Not with work, not with taking care of Orion, not with the bills…

So when Wheeljack pulled him through the crowd of bots he ignored the notice from his systems that his frame was overheating. He shuts down the warnings on his HUD, servo clamped tightly to the white bot as he’s pushed up against the wall and kissed. It was hungry and heavy, and Wheeljack just takes from Magnus even with the height difference between the two of them. There’s a distinct authority between them, Wheeljack guiding the other in the push-pull of heat. As commanding the white bot is, Magnus relents slightly, allowing the other to explore his intake. The exchange is distracting and hot and Magnus’ processor sings in approval. It’s almost exactly what the blue mech needs.

Large silver servos found the white plating of the bot and he released an embarrassingly needy sound as Wheeljack pulls back from the kiss, the air between them charged with anticipation and arousal. Magnus shifted a bit, making space between his legs for the shorter mech to lean further into him.

He hummed slightly, a slow smirk crossing his faceplates as he asks. “What do you want Magnus?”

There was a beat. “Well, I really wish the reports at my unit were done so I could stop thinking about them.” 

Magnus mentally strangled himself at the quick honesty. That response wasn’t attractive! It was slag like that which made mech’s tilt their helms and run away before Magnus could begin spewing out rhetoric no bot cared about. It was strangely compulsive and weird, and Primus he was being laughed at.

Ultra Magnus huffed almost defensively before removing his servos from the other’s shaking frame, optic ridges coming together sullenly at the barely restrained laughter. “You know what-“

“No, no, no. ‘m sorry Magnus I promise I ain’t laughing at you.” Wheeljack grinned, grabbing the mech’s servos in between his and pushing them to the wall, dropping a kiss as an apology onto the other’s chassis. 

“Oh, then explain the laughter please.” He asked. Low key sarcasm had become his favorite way to jab at his inept superiors on the Iaconian Elite Guard. 

“It‘s just a funny thing to say... and the fact ya said it now makes it even funnier.” Wheeljack said against blue plating, the smile evident in his voice.

Magnus hummed. “Oh really? Is that so? Was my time of phrasing not perfect?” 

The white bot tilted his head. “I’m beginnin’ to catch on to your humor I think.”

Ultra Magnus regarded him quietly, his slight irritation at the exchange bleeding away with each beat of his spark. The faint itch he was experiencing hadn’t gone away, and if anything, became more insistent with each passing klik. Wheeljack just stood there, hard pressed against him with the other’s servos pressed to the wall behind them both. It should’ve been awkward, but the officer felt no type of urgency, no sense of wrong with the closeness. 

“Who are you Wheeljack?” he asked in the space between them. His optics caught the way the other averted his, servos loosening their hold on his own. 

“I ain’t nobody special Ultra Magnus.” The white bot said, digits curling into Magnus’ wrist guards. The way his designation flowed off Wheeljack’s glossa was like well-oiled gears: correct and smooth, yet tinged with a growl of muted arousal from before. “But ‘m glad I got to meet you.”

Magnus returned his sentiments, but didn’t respond, confused in the sudden change in Wheeljack’s field. It rippled slightly, as if his attention became divided, and he figured the mech must have been speaking with another via comm. link. He thought the action was slightly rude, but he assumed there was good reason since the other retreated from him.

“I gotta split, slag I’m sorry. I woulda- if I could have done this right but-slag they’re on their way I have ta go. I need you to wait-“

The crowd roared in approval at the next song choice, white noise filling the officer’s audio receptors as he tried to find a reasonable frequency. Wheeljack moved his lip plates as he backed away, a sorrowful expression crossing his face plates. Over the excessively loud music Magnus wasn’t quite able to make out the last word.  
There were two of them, two unheard syllables, but he didn’t have the chance to ask the bot to repeat himself. His spark sank at the realization.

This time, however, with all his attention focused on Wheeljack, he didn’t need to.

He recognized the syllables of his own designation.


End file.
